


give up the chase

by amcams



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Comeplay, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, F/M, Fingerfucking, Interrogation, It's an agreed dynamic but that's not made clear until the end, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Roleplay, Rough Sex, So i'm being safe here, The specifics are in the notes if you're concerned!, Torn Clothing, barely, for a general blanket term?, in the second chapter, it's filthy y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21763507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amcams/pseuds/amcams
Summary: Natasha wakes to find herself handcuffed and in for the interrogation of a lifetime.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 19
Kudos: 229





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I sat down and wrote over 5,000 words in one night just because. First chapter is the fun part, second chapter will be the aftercare and cute shit.
> 
> come hang on twitter! @metalplated

Natasha clenches and unclenches her fists as the dark figure before her paces slowly closer. Her wrists don’t ache yet where they’re suspended above her head, but with enough pulling they soon will. She’s stretched out enough that her boots barely make contact with the ground, and any sort of kicking out pulls painfully at her shoulders, especially against the somewhat looser shackles around her ankles. She’s tried.

Her snakebites have been removed, and so has her utility belt, hanging over the back of a chair, cruelly just out of her reach. Her holsters hang empty by her sides, and aside from her words and wit she’s completely unarmed. They even managed to get the knife she keeps at the small of her back as a last resort.

The tall figure stops just out of reach of her legs and considers her, strong arms crossed over his chest.

“Tell me what I want to know,” he demands evenly. “And you might make it out of this in one piece.” It’s phrased like one might ask a friend if they’re free for dinner. So confident and self-assured. Natasha’s lip curls.

“You might not be familiar with my work,” she begins archly, hands curled back into fists. “But I’m not in the habit of negotiating with criminals.”

“I’m intimately familiar with your work, Natasha Romanoff,” the deep voice continues, making her stomach flip. What about her cover? So easily brushed aside, she wasn’t expecting it.

She doesn’t let it show on her face.

“—and that’s why I anticipated this answer. I have other ways of making you talk.”

Natasha fights the urge to roll her eyes at him, the words forming before she can consider them. “You could at least be original—“

The man steps immediately into her space, hand splaying over her throat, his fingers burning hot in this cool and dimly lit room. He’s not squeezing, but the threat is there. His hand is big, implacable, and he could crush her windpipe if he put his mind to it. He doesn’t, yet, and she angles her head up to glare at him defiantly.

“Original, hm?” He seems to consider it, a wicked smile curling just the edge of his mouth up. In another life, it might be considered charming. Not here. “Remember, you asked for it.”

The words send a cold curl of dread into the pit of her stomach, and for a moment she can’t even form a cutting response because of the look in his eyes— a flash of intent that she didn’t anticipate.

His thumb presses firmly up under her chin to keep her looking up at him, which is why it startles her when another burning hot hand lands at the dip of her waist.

She jumps a little, eyebrows pulling together. “If you think you can intimidate me, you’ve got another thing coming,” she says more bravely than she feels. It suddenly hits her that she’s alone in this room with this man. That she hasn’t heard any other voices or even ambient noise since waking up here. Nobody is coming to save her— she’d lost her comm long before getting captured; they couldn’t even track her unless they thought to activate the beacon in her snakebites. Even then they’d be hours out. Maybe she’s less confident than she thought.

Her attention is pulled back again when the man chuckles, deep in his chest. “I don’t need to intimidate you, Agent Romanoff.” The utter confidence with which he speaks makes her stomach churn nervously. His thumb moves to tug at her lower lip and his other hand slides to cradle her ribcage. His hands are so large they almost span it. There’s that smirk again. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

His thumb is callused— she can tell as he swipes it over her lips before she jerks her head away. “You don’t have me,” she spits, pulling at her cuffs uselessly.

“Don’t I?” He cuts in, letting his hand skim up her side, along her raised arm and then all the way down again. Over her arm, her ribs, her waist, her hip, the curve of her thigh, almost like he was memorizing it. Natasha shudders. “Because the way I see it, it’s just you and me here, and you’re the one in the cuffs.” He fits both hands over her hips, thumbs circling the jut of bone that’s discernible with her stretched out like this.

Her thighs flex and she bears the weight on her wrists to try and knee at him, but there’s nowhere near that much give in the restraints, and she just ends up wincing a little.

He chuckles, hands splaying wide over her sides, meandering up, over her lower back, and then down to grab two firm handfuls of her ass. Natasha grunts and tries to squirm away from his grip, but there just isn’t enough room. Her adrenaline kicks into overdrive now that he seems to be getting bolder, but she can’t see a way out yet. Soon. She always finds a way out.

He kneads her ass with a low sound of appraisal. “You’ve got just the shape I’d hoped you’d have,” he murmurs. Natasha doesn’t dignify that with a response. “Strong, but soft where it counts.” He squeezes her ass so hard it lifts her up onto her toes a little and she exhales sharply. Jesus this guy is strong as he looks.

“Go to hell,” she manages with dread again curling in her stomach.

The man presses even nearer and again she turns her face away. That doesn’t seem to deter him, and she shudders as his lips find her neck, hot like his hands. He’s not particularly gentle but he is thorough as he maps the column of her neck with his mouth,finally biting down right where her neck meets her shoulder. That startles another sharp breath out of her, but doesn’t deter him from latching on and forming what she can tell will be a dark hickey once he pulls away.She doesn’t even let her partners mark her like this, citing professionalism and meaning distance. She’s unused to the way it stings at her neck in an objectively pleasant way. Once he pulls off with satisfied sound, he immediately starts another one, just behind her ear. She can hear and feel him breathe her in, his chest expanding with air and pressing against hers. She doesn’t make a sound as he starts a second mark, eyes screwed shut.

She’s so distracted with this that she doesn’t notice his hands until they’re cupping her breasts through the catsuit and squeezing. She bites down on her lower lip, refusing to look at him as he mouths at her neck and kneads her breasts. She isn’t able to stop the sharp inhale through her nose, though, when his thumbs unerringly start circling her nipples through the fabric. The sensation is dull, hardly anything, but she’s always been sensitive there. There’s no way he could’ve known, but she’s still paying the price for it.

The unease in her stomach only turns and increases when he pulls off the second mark and stands back just enough to find the zipper on her catsuit and tug.

“Change your mind yet about that information?” He smirks, eyes sparkling bright as if daring her.

“Given any thought to what your nickname will be in prison?” She shoots back, refusing to give in, especially to someone like this.

“Suit yourself,” his smirk unfolds into a dangerous grin and he pulls the zipper down to her navel. She shivers as the cool basement air hits her skin, goosebumps erupting over the exposed area and down her arms. A second later his hand splays over her bared stomach, pressing her back against the wall and parting the catsuit to reveal her black lace bra.

He clucks his tongue, hand traveling up slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world and he wants to spend it unwrapping a particularly good present. She supposes distantly that he might very well feel that way. It twists in her stomach. “Not very practical for a secret agent,” he chastises, and Natasha feels the back of her neck get hot without her approval.

His second hand joins the first, pushing the catsuit open at the top as far as it will go so he can curve both hands around her breasts once more. The lace is much thinner than the material of the catsuit and his hands are still burning hot on her skin. She’s in seriously hot water here, she realizes as his thumbs once again find her nipples— an easy task through the nearly-sheer fabric— and a line of unbidden heat lances right through her.

She exhales heavily— a mistake, she realizes as the look on the man’s face goes wolfish.

“You _like_ that, don’t you,” he says, more smug statement than question. She again doesn’t answer. It doesn’t seem to phase him, because next think she knows he’s teasing at them, scraping his blunt thumbnails over them until her nipples stand at attention, clearly visible through her too-thin bra. “Mmm.” He admires his handiwork, eyes dragging over her neck and down to her chest, eyes hungry and gaze self-satisfied. She won’t admit her breathing has picked up significantly since he started. “I think you do.”

And he pinches her nipples, giving them a quick tug.

“ _Ha_ —“ the spike of liquid heat drops straight to her core, and she screws her eyes back up to clamp down on it. She can’t. She won’t let herself.

He doesn’t take any of that into consideration, because she can feel his fingertips trace the underwire of her bra, circling her breasts and hooking two fingers under the fabric of the cups to draw them down under her breasts. The stretched fabric pushes them up obscenely, and she didn’t even realize her eyes were open again until she’s watching him keep deadly calm eye contact with her as he lowers his mouth to her right nipple and flick it with his tongue.

Her lips part as he latches on and sucks hard, thighs flexing and pressing together against the sharp sting, trying fruitlessly to guard herself against the line that apparently goes from her nipples right to her clit, that this wretched man is plucking at like it’s not twisting her up inside and making heat pool between her legs.

He drags his teeth over her nipple right at the same time he pinches the other one and her knees feel weak, breath definitely coming heavier now. Her hands are white-knuckled into fists as he switches his mouth to the other nipple, but he doesn’t have a mind to stop or even slow down until her nipples ache and feel heavy and there are several new hickies over the swell of her breasts. The marks stand out purple against her pale skin, and she can feel the slick between her legs.

Natasha feels jittery, feverish, and out of breath, but the man doesn’t stop. Instead, he straightens up and takes hold of the zipper once more, tugging it down as far as it will go, just below the slight softness of her belly. Barely an inch above her neatly trimmed pubic hair. Her stomach swoops so hard she feels almost dizzy, but she still finds it in herself to narrow her eyes and glare at the man, her stare like ice to the fire of his eyes, his hands, his mouth.

He steps closer and shoves his knee between her thighs, forcing them apart just enough that when he slips his hand into her uniform he has enough room to draw his fingers through her folds.

“Jesus, Natasha,” he breathes, seemingly affected for the first time. “You’re soaking wet.”

Her toes curl up in her boots at the thick press of his fingers against her, but she doesn’t answer what wasn’t a question. He seems to regain a little composure. Enough to remark “So, no underwear? I knew you wanted this.”

She doesn’t quite have enough bandwidth to curl her lip, but she does manage a breathy “in your dreams.”

“Oh, trust me,” he murmurs, circling his fingertips over her swollen clit just to watch the way the muscles in her stomach jump. “I’ll be dreaming of this for a long time.”

He stands so close that their foreheads nearly touch as he leans in. Her head’s angled up again, but this time it’s because her spine is bowing against her will as he toys with her clit. He doesn’t press too hard yet, just enough to give her the friction her body wants. Her eyes screw shut in pleasure instead of disdain—maybe a confusing mix of both. She doesn’t have time to parse it because the next moment, two of his fingers push through her folds and inside of her, punching a low, involuntary sound out of the back of her throat.

His fingers are thick, and two right away is a stretch, but somehow it’s not too much. It’s just the right amount of pressure, and her body adjusts quickly. His fingers don’t move, cruelly. Instead, he moves his hand so the heel of his palm is pressed firmly against her clit, making it impossible for Natasha to keep from rocking her hips against it, try as she might to hold back.

Another sharp breath escapes her, and she doesn’t have to look to know his smile is back again. “God, you’re just dying for it,” he murmurs to himself. “Your body’s begging for me to fuck you. How can I refuse?”

Before Natasha can even begin to summon the words for a retort, those thick fingers start to fuck into her at an unexpected pace. No ramp-up, no easing into it, just pushing his fingers inside up to the last knuckle and making her ride it out against his hand. Every thrust into her made her hips rock involuntarily, made her grind against the heel of his palm, made her body seek out more friction. She can hear the wet sound of his fingers thrusting in an out of her, and it’s not long before she finds herself on the edge, muscles tense and rigid to keep from tipping over.

He notices.

“You can’t hold back,” he says reasonably. “I’m going to make you come, so you might as well relax and enjoy it.” The smirk is back and she finds herself torn between wanting to punch him or wanting to grab his hand and make him finish the job. She grits her teeth together.

“Very well.” And he dips his head to start another hickey, this time the other side of her neck. His free hand that had been pinning her against the wall moves up and tugs sharply at her already-sensitive nipple.

“Come.” He demands it, low and firm and completely assured that he’ll be obeyed. It drives her up the wall, but she’s too far gone to fight it. A strangled sound echoes through the room around her, and it takes a moment to realize that sound is _her_. That’s the last thing Natasha is aware of before her body seizes up, gripping at the man’s fingers as she comes. Her muscles spasm around him, milking his fingers while her hips grind frantically at his hand. It’s a dull sort of pressure but with his fingers curling inside her like that it’s more than enough. The muscles in her thighs and stomach jump as he works her through it, and she’s slumped back against the wall shivering before she knows it.

“That was perfect,” comes his voice, cutting through the haze she’s in. She hasn’t come that hard in a while, she hates to admit. His fingers have drawn out of her and are circling her clit, sending sparks of electricity through her that makes her jump and shiver. She’s sensitive still, but he doesn’t seem to care. His fingers press to her clit one more time to see her squirm, and his hand withdraws, glistening wet with her slick and her come.

He traces those fingers over her bottom lip. When she doesn’t open up, he drags them down her throat and paints her breasts with her own slick. It quickly cools in the open air, and she feels marked, even more than the hickies. Look what I made you do, the gesture says, and she feels her cheeks heat.

“If you feel this good around my fingers—“ No. No, no— the bottom falls out of her stomach. “Just imagine how good it will feel around my cock.”

“Haven’t you done enough?” She asks, surprised to hear how throaty she sounds. Not that he’d know, but it’s more than obvious to her own ears how much she’s affected by this. She casts her eyes down where she hasn’t allowed them to stray yet, and she can see the unmistakeable bulge in the front of his pants.

“It’s not fair for you to have all the fun,” he rumbles, finally pressing himself against her thigh so she can feel the long, hard line of his cock. He groans, hands shifting down to grab her ass again, dragging her against him. His cock fits against the crook of her thigh and he thrusts gently. Just enough to make her feel it.

His hands dip even lower, grabbing her right where her ass meets her thighs and lifting her up a little, pulling her legs apart as he does, and stepping between her legs so she can feel his cock pressed right up against her. There are too many layers of fabric for her to feel anything other than a blunt, hard pressure. Instead of rocking his hips, he rubs her back and forth over his cock using his grip on her ass. Even this dull friction against her sensitive clit is enough to make her jerk in his grip, and she realizes he’s much stronger than he seemed to hold and shift her so easily. In her current state, there’s a definite thread of desire that curls through her along with the anxiety. God, what is wrong with her?

Eventually, though, he does set her down. It doesn’t bring Natasha any comfort though, because it’s only for him to unbuckle his belt and slide it through the loops. Her eyes widen a little, and the man chuckles, tossing the belt aside. “Maybe later,” he purrs, catching out exactly what Natasha had been thinking. She glares.

He pops the button on his fly, eyes roaming over her the whole way. What a sight she must be. Purpled hickies over both sides of her neck and covering her breasts, her nipples red and still at attention, black bra shoved down, catsuit gaping open. At least her zipper doesn’t go any lower, she thinks distractedly.

As if on cue, the man grabs both sides of the zipper and pulls sharply, the fabric gives way like it’s tissue paper, tearing down the seam and ending right at the apex of her thighs.

Natasha flinches a little at the sudden gesture, eyes wider once she sees what he’s done. The catsuit won’t close now that he’s broken the zipper, and somehow that’s what makes her feel desperate. Cool air hits her skin and she shivers, but he’s already stepping back in. He pushes his pants down his thighs and draws himself out of his underwear. Natasha can’t pull her gaze away from his cock, flushed red, glistening at the tip and standing out proudly against the dark fabric of his clothing. It’s big. Of course it is, if his fingers were anything to judge by.

He’s a good bit taller than her, so he’ll have to bend his knees a little she reasons, already resigning herself to her fate. Instead, he grabs her ass again and hoists her up like she’d been before, as far as the ankle restraints will allow. He shifts her weight until he’s holding her up with just one hand, somehow. She’s grateful for the respite for her wrists, until she watches him fist his cock again and then feels him draw the cockhead right through her folds where she’s still hopelessly slick. She bucks in his grip on pure reflex, a soft cry twisting out from between her teeth, and he has to stagger his footing to keep steady. It’s big and it’s hot and she’s still not ready for another round, but he doesn’t stop to ask any of that.

He just leans harder into her, pressing her more firmly against the wall, and rubs his cock through her slick a few more torturous times, before stroking himself, spreading it down the length of his cock. It’s hopelessly filthy but effective, and Natasha finds that her jitters have turned into shaking. She can’t tell if it’s overstimulation or just anticipation. She’s embarrassed either way.

That train of thinking is very quickly pushed out of her head, though, when she feels his head at her entrance. It’s blunt and thick in a whole new way, much bigger than his fingers. “I can’t—“ she manages, tugging hard at her restraints.

“You will,” he says, clearly too far gone to string more than two words together. Not that she’s any different.

He pushes past her ring of muscles and inside, and if she’d been watching she would’ve seen the blissful look that fleetingly crosses his face. “Fuck—“ he breathes, but Natasha can’t hear anything but blood rushing in her ears. He’s big, just like she thought, but as he sinks himself in to the hilt without pausing to let her adjust, Natasha is in another world entirely. She doesn’t even recognize the moan it pushes out of her. He settles for a minute when he’s all the way in, and Natasha looks up at him dazedly, feeling nothing but full to the brim.

“You feel so good,” he says thickly, and Natasha just squirms in his grip. His free hand shoves into his pocket for a moment, but Natasha barely tracks the movement. All she can manage is that he’s stepping up closer and hitching her up higher with both hands under her thighs. Her weight is fully in his hands and leaned against the wall now, barely any pressure on her restrained wrists, which is good because her arms are beginning to ache.

He shifts his stance a little wider, and that’s all the notice Natasha gets before he starts fucking into her in earnest. A sharp cry punches out of her at the punishing pace he sets up, but it’s just this side of too much. The slap of his skin against hers is the only sound in the room besides both their heavy breathing.

Her focus narrows to different sensations. The cold wall against her back, the bounce of her breasts as he pierces her with another sharp thrust, his fingertips digging into her thighs, his breath on her neck or the sharp sting of yet another hickey. She feels full and wound up and before she knows it, another orgasm is ripping through her, making her back arch and her legs shake. She gives a full-voiced moan as she comes, and aside from a low grunt and a few growled curse words as she squeezes like a vice around his cock, he doesn’t fucking slow down.

It makes Natasha barrel through her aftershocks like a freight train, writhing in his unyielding grip. No matter how much she squirms and bucks and shivers, he doesn’t drop her. He doesn’t stop. She wonders dazedly if he’s even human. She’s lightheaded and thoroughly out of it. Doesn’t even stop to question why she’s able to when she winds her legs around his hips and draws him in. He shifts his grip to afford her one sharp smack on her ass that makes her cry out again, but she’s not fighting him anymore. Far from it, because two orgasms deep and stuffed full of his cock, every other thrust draws a sound from her, torn from the back of her throat and entirely involuntary. She’s breathing hard and open-mouthed, head hanging forward, red hair obscuring her face from view.

Finally, after what feels like a dreamlike eternity, his lips graze her ear. “Gonna come,” he promises, drawing her hips further away from the wall. Somehow, impossibly, he picks up speed. Now the sound of skin on skin is inaudible over Natasha’s crying out, constant, the sound knocked out of her with each thrust. Her eyes are half-closed and heavy.

His rhythm stutters, and with a few more thrusts, she can feel his cock pulsing as he comes deep inside her. She doesn’t even spare a thought to his come filling her up, because as soon as he’s used her to fuck himself through his orgasm—grabbing her hips tight enough to leave bruises, bouncing her over his cock like she weighs nothing— he pulls out and drops her feet to the floor. She can barely catch her breath, but he inexplicably lowers to his knees and knocks her feet apart again.

His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright, and he looks _hungry_. If she had any thought towards shame, she might protest to being spread and on display like this, but all she can do is widen her eyes when she realizes his intent.

“No—“ Natahsa breathes. “No more— I can’t.” Her head drops back against the wall, wishing she could step out of the path of his burning gaze.

“Having trust issues?” He asks apropos of nothing. “No,” she says quickly, licking her dry lips.

“Then you can, and you will,” he says firmly, taking hold of her thighs as he seals his mouth over her clit and starts working at her with his tongue.

A low, keening sound makes its way out of her, and try as she might the iron grip he has on her thighs keeps her from squirming away from his determined mouth. He runs his tongue through her slick and his come sliding out of her, making Natasha cry out as his tongue curls inside her. Her thighs flex against his hands, and he returns to her clit. It hasn’t had so much direct stimulation this whole time, and he’s thorough, seeking out what techniques make her arch and cry out breathlessly.

It isn’t long before Natasha can feel it curling at the base of her spine again, pulling at her. “I can’t—“ it’s too much, she’ll black out, she can’t do it. Natasha tries once more to squirm out of his grip, to no avail. He lifts his head from between her thighs, eyes indignant and bright. “ _Come_ “ he demands, returning his mouth to her clit and _sucking_ at it.

“ —Ah!” The sharp curl of pleasure explodes behind her eyelids, and she curls her toes, tightens her hands into fists, grits her teeth to keep from letting it sweep her away.

He _growls_ against her and frees a hand she doesn’t track the movement of until she feels two fingers swiping over her lips as if collecting her slick and slipping inside her. There’s far less resistance now, the slide almost unreasonably wet now that she’s fucked open and tired out. He seems to realize that, and a third finger joins the first two, finally approximating the girth of his cock. She clenches around him on instinct as he swipes through the come he spilled into her and uses it to tuck his three fingers back inside. It’s not as deep as his cock got, but he leaves his fingers in as far as they’ll go and pulses his hand in short thrusts that shake through her and make her feel overfull all the same.

He’s keeping his come inside until he’s done with her, she realizes, feeling a hot wash of something between embarrassment and exhilaration sweep through her right as he grazes his teeth over her poor clit. She snaps.

Natasha hurtles over the edge like a rocket, her whole body bowing against his mouth, her voice breaking with her cry of pleasure. He moans against her, tongue and fingers fucking her through it. She doesn’t black out, but her vision dims along the edges. Every pass of his tongue over her clit as he works her through sparks raw electricity through her veins, past the point where she can even process it. This time she’s trembling head to toe as she comes down, every swipe of his tongue to clean her up exquisite torture.

She realizes belatedly he’d stopped asking for information a long while ago.

When he seems satisfied, he stands and wipes his mouth and chin on the back of his hand. He grabs for a nearby towel, wiping her off from the sweat on her brow to the mess he’d made between her legs. She flexes her fingers and they creak and tingle, surely white from lack of blood flow. He notices as he’s tucking himself back into his pants, and without another word his whole expression shifts to something much, much softer.

“Here.” And with a quiet click, he reaches up and undoes the restraints, not realizing they were the only things keeping Natasha upright on her wobbly legs. She tips forward into him and he’s there immediately, sweeping his strong arms around her as she tucks her face against his broad shoulders and tries to finish catching her breath.

“That was—“ she licks her lips again, her thoughts too scattered for her not to lose the thread.

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, all traces of his smirking persona falling away as he turns his face to her sweat-damp hair and holds her tight against him. He’s easily supporting her weight, and barely any worse for the wear aside from his red cheeks and racing heartbeat she can hear from this close. “Are you alright?” He asks softly, nearly disguising the concern Natasha can detect churning beneath his words.

“Steve,” she chuckles breathlessly, lifting her head from his chest even though it feels like it weighs twenty pounds, just to look him in the eyes. “That was everything I could’ve wanted.” The tight pinch behind his gaze eases, gives way to a bashful smile when she tacks on: “It was perfect.”

Someone who’d just done _that_ for her shouldn’t be able to smile at her so earnestly. And people thought _she_ had hidden depths.

“Now, c’mon,” she urges, twisting just enough to right her bra and try her best to close the gaping catsuit, “I need a shower and I’m sure as hell not taking myself upstairs on these legs.” She’s still a little jittery, but now that the blood is returning to her fingertips and she can lean back into Steve’s warm chest, she feels much more steady.

“Mm, yes, ma’am,” Steve rumbles cheekily, those broad hands stroking soothing lines of heat up and down her back. “Sorry about the catsuit. I got carried away.”

She doesn’t think he’s really sorry at all. “Well, good thing I’m getting rid of it anyway.” The very reason she’d approached Steve with this request in the first place. “If you’d done the same to my bra I _would've_ been mad,” she teases.

“It’s a very nice bra,” Steve agrees, voice still pitched low from his lingering arousal. She knows from experience that if she had the energy and palmed his cock right here, he’d be ready to go again. Too bad for Steve, he’d totally wiped her out and the only things on her agenda after this are a shower and bed. She makes a mental note to make it up to him soon, because she knows he’d never push.

He’s good like that.


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the promised aftercare (:  
> feel free to comment some other prompts down below!

Natasha wraps her arms around Steve’s neck in a signal, and without a word he sweeps her up with an arm under her knees and around her back like she weighs less than nothing. Instead of threatening, having all that strength around her makes her feel grounded and safe. Like she can finally go off-duty when he’s around. She can tell he feels the same, all those nights she takes a StarkPad from his hands at three am and pulls him off to bed. He never fights her on it, even though getting him to accept help in any other case can prove impossible. It’s just one of the thousand things between them that doesn’t need to be said.

He carries her to the lift, stepping inside with a vague promise to come back down and clean up everything else later. Natasha just closes her eyes and listens for the beat of his heart, already steadied back down to normal again. “Maybe I need a bath instead,” Natasha reasons as the ache settles into her wrists, her shoulders, and between her legs. She wouldn’t be surprised if there were purple fingertip bruises around her hips. “I’m gonna be sore tomorrow,” she says, with enough deep-seated satisfaction apparent in her tone that Steve doesn’t automatically apologize.

It speaks to her progress with him, when he just ducks his head and exhales in what she’s come to learn is his ‘exasperatedly fond’ gesture. Sure enough, the edges of his lips are pulled up in a soft, boyish smile. It makes her heart swoop, and Natasha cranes her neck to taste it.

Steve turns toward it, and meets her lips with a soft kiss that steals her breath away. It’s gentle, and reverent, and not at all what she’d expected. One of her hands curves around the cut of his jaw to draw it out, and she manages to deepen it enough to curl her tongue behind his teeth and make him shiver before the lift chimes to let them know they reached their floor. She smiles just a little into the kiss and eases back, stealing a few more chaste kisses from him before she reaches out and opens the doors with her fingerprint. Little securities like that soothe some of the anxious voices in the back of her head at night.

Steve doesn’t set her down yet, shouldering her door open and easily navigating her apartment until he can safely deposit her on her bed, causing her to groan as she sinks into the mattress.

“Don’t fall asleep if you want that bath,” Steve warns as he drifts into the bathroom to start running the warm water.

Natasha manages a grunt, her eyes drifting closed anyway. She’s not sleeping, she’s just enjoying the cloudlike support of her mattress, warm against her chilled back, cradling her tired legs and sore arms. It’s never felt so good.

Steve returns a few minutes later, drawing Natasha out of her near-dozing state with warm hands on her knees. “You’re going to be asleep before we’re even done,” he murmurs in amusement.

“I won’t,” she protests on reflex, taking Steve’s offered hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. He’s got a bath towel draped over one shoulder, and he undresses her with practiced ease, drawing her torn catsuit off her shoulders and down her arms, pushing it off her hips, kneeling to unlace her boots and tug them off so she can step out of the suit. Natasha’s managed to unhook her bra with her stiff and nearly useless arms, and he takes it from her fingertips as he wraps the big towel around her to keep her warm. She hadn’t even realized she’d been shivering.

“It’s almost full,” he promises, cupping her cheek in one hand, his thumb brushing over the apple. Her lids are heavy, but the high of orgasm is finally fading and she’s just tired and sated.

It makes the bath all the more satisfying as Steve helps her into the tub. Lowering her body weight makes her thighs shake dangerously, and she (unlike Steve) has no qualms about allowing herself to be pampered now and again. It’s not the type of bath she draws for herself, which is usually a much more ritualistic proceeding involving candles and a good French wine, but he’s tested the temperature so it’s hot without scalding and Natasha immediately sighs in relief.

“Thank you,” she breathes out, head tipping back and eyes sliding shut as the warmth starts to soak into her chilled skin. “Can you come back in twenty minutes?” No use standing around watching her lay here doing nothing. She can feel Steve’s smile as he drops a kiss to her temple on his way out.

Natasha allows herself to drift, grateful beyond belief to have Steve do all this for her. It’s not a door she likes to open very often, but having someone she trusts take over as completely as Steve did tonight lights her up in a lot of ways. The thread of danger, the physical challenge, the way her body took over and silenced her constantly-churning thoughts--she’d needed it in a way that had been building for a while.

Steve had taken her request and done just what she’d needed, even though he couldn’t stop himself from touching her the same way he always did: affection in every gesture, even when they were blows raining down in a sparring session or firm hands gripping her hips. He touched her like she mattered, and as much as it used to prickle at her and make her feel condescended to, he has never handled her like she’s fragile and she’s come to realize that maybe she _doesn’t_ need to push herself to her limits just to prove a point to herself. Sometimes it’s nice to be treated gently.

She can hear Steve rattling around in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards. She means to call to him and offer to help him find whatever he’s looking for, but her body feels like it’s made of lead, and even summoning the effort to be loud enough to reach him is beyond her right now. Instead she sinks even further into the tub, leaning her legs to one side so her head is the only part of her above water.

When he comes back for her, the water has just started to go cool and she has to pry her eyes open to look up at him, offering a tired smile. His answers, and he holds up the same towel wordlessly. She nods, engaging already-sore muscles to push herself up out of the tub. The temperature difference of the cool air makes her whole body erupt in goosebumps, and she starts shivering as he wraps her back up in the towel. Before he can move to help her she starts drying herself off, pushing through the ache in her arms to expedite the process. After that bath, she’s ready for bed, and Steve ends up sort of hovering behind her as she drops the towel, walks over to her dresser, and pulls on a pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt. Steve is warm enough that she won’t need more layers to stay comfortable.

The bed is already neatly turned down for her, something she never bothers with herself. She gives him a smile as he walks around to the other side of the bed, having changed into an undershirt and sleep pants when she was in the bath, hitting the light switch on the way. No sooner are the blankets up over her shoulder than Natasha scoots inward, seeking out Steve’s body heat. She settles into her usual position: curled up against his side with one leg draped over his thigh and her head resting on his shoulder. He’s big and broad and warm and perfect for her to wrap herself around to fall asleep.

Steve curls the arm she’s laying on, keeping her close and pushing gentle fingers into her damp hair. Natasha complements the gesture by pushing her bath-warm fingers up under his tank top and splaying them out over his stomach in a little possessive gesture. You’re mine, too, she thinks to herself, tipping her head up a little to catch the outline of Steve’s profile in the weak light making it past her blinds.

A flash of protective instinct spreads in her chest as it hits her again just how amazing Steve can be. Going out of his comfort zone to give her something she wanted. Taking care of her like this afterwards. Giving it his full attention and effort like he does with everything worthwhile to him. Then letting her see him at his softest and most relaxed, holding her to him like _she’s_ the comfort when the darkness creeps in. Her eyes sting a little, and she buries her face against his chest because _christ_ this is not the time to get emotional. She really must be worn out.

Just then, Steve turns his head and presses his nose to her hair, dropping a kiss onto her crown and breathing her in as he settles into sleep. _I’m never letting you go_ , she promises to herself.

Someday, she’ll even work up the nerve to tell him so.


End file.
